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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912145">Emergency Reassignment</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevanna/pseuds/Nevanna'>Nevanna</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Vampire, Ants, Blood Drinking, Bugs &amp; Insects, Mind Control, Moral Ambiguity, Other, Telepathy, Vampire Turning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:06:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,965</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevanna/pseuds/Nevanna</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon and Martin discover a Corruption thrall in a desperate situation, and do what they can to help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The_Magnusquerade</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Emergency Reassignment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started thinking about this fic not long after listening to MAG 184, but for reasons of my own, I ultimately decided to write it outside its original apocalyptic context.  I'm not saying that the Magnusquerade <em>won't</em> take its own world-ending turn, but as of this story, it that hasn't happened <em>yet</em>.</p><p>Thanks to alliedwolves for beta-reading and to CheerfullyMorbid for inspiring the title. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The corridors were dark and nearly silent, a dreamlike shadow of the bright lights and buzzing doors in the rest of the building, on the other side of the “Keep Out” sign.  These rooms hadn’t housed patients for over a year, and renovation was likely to take even longer than planned, due to the frequent issues with vermin in the walls.</p><p>The vermin only grew more bold, the deeper into the neglected corners they crept. At first, they’d only glimpsed moths and silverfish: just now they’d disturbed a gang of silent, staring rodents. </p><p>“Do you think Melanie will be sad to miss this?” Martin whispered.  “I thought sneaking into abandoned hospitals was one of her specialties.  She could create a new YouTube sensation.”</p><p>“I doubt that the Corruption vampires would appreciate the exposure,” Jon replied.  Nor could he predict how Melanie would respond to an encounter with the creatures responsible for her father’s death.</p><p>“Speaking of exposure…” Martin took a couple of deep breaths to calm his heartbeat.  “Do you know how many of them are waiting to jump out at us?”</p><p>“Let’s find out.”  Jon closed his eyes, extending his Sight through the entire floor, and the one below it.  He didn’t like to spend too much time in these particular vampires’ thoughts -- they loved disease and decay and crawling things bit too fervently for his liking -- but a glance would be enough to confirm their location… or it might have been, if he’d Seen any of them in or around the hospital.</p><p>Instead, a wave of sick, horrified, <em> human </em> desperation slammed through him, and he almost lost his balance.  Martin caught him easily, although even he looked a bit shaky from the psychic feedback.  “Jon, what’s wrong? Please talk to me; what did you…” </p><p>Jon found his voice.  “One floor down,” he managed.  “I don’t know if it’s a trap, so perhaps you ought to stay here.”</p><p>Martin squeezed his hand.  “Not likely.”</p><p>They descended the nearest staircase as quietly as they could, emerging into a hallway that was equally still.  The nearest door was unmarked, and Jon stepped in front of Martin to wrench it open. Even with (as Tim had called it) his “spooky monster night vision,” it took Jon a moment to understand what he was seeing.</p><p>The ants poured into the supply cupboard like water, in such a dense multitude that the walls and floor seemed to be in constant motion. The noise of their tiny, marching legs was audible, even to human senses, and omnipresent: Jon fought back images of worms carpeting the Archives. Even the memories of Jane Prentiss didn’t horrify him as much as the figure that knelt, cramped in the tight supply space, statue-still despite the insects that surged over him.  They clung to the man’s hair, crawled in and out of his clothing, and skittered over a tight, agonized, and hauntingly <em> familiar </em> face. Only his face twitched, occasionally letting ants slip in or out of his mouth.</p><p>The nearest window brought in a slice of moonlight, illuminating the dingy hell around them. That, and the brief flicker of torchlight from his phone, showed Martin everything that he needed to know. His jaw went slack.  “Good Christ, I remember him!” he whispered over Jon’s shoulder.</p><p>“Yes,” Jon agreed. “He was part of the cleanup after Prentiss’s attack, and helped <em> you </em> to convince me that she was truly gone.” He leaned forward. “Jordan, can you hear me?”</p><p>In that moment, it seemed that Jordan could. His bloodshot eyes rolled before meeting Jon’s again, his fingers spasmed, and he forced his words through clenched teeth: “<em> Help me."</em></p><p>“I will if I can,” Jon promised, and braced himself for a glance -- and then more than a glance -- at Jordan’s mind.  </p><p>Memories flowed and swirled together behind those eyes: a job that started like any other, and ended with fire ants that had flooded a suburban kitchen.  Those images gave way to the impossibly tall man in the baggy brown suit who held Jordan aloft with a grip like stone, and the howl of surprise when Amherst’s sleeve caught fire from Jordan’s lighter, only briefly deterring him.  And then there was only the taste of his blood, oily and rotten-sweet on Jordan’s tongue, repulsive until the moment it became necessary. His master’s blood was irresistible, sustaining and welcoming, showing Jordan and the other thralls that they <em> belonged </em>.</p><p>Things were more fervent, less detailed, in memories that followed that kitchen. In serving the Corruption, Jordan saw the work of creatures that, even after years as an exterminator, he hadn’t known existed. Now he knew the pests as fellow servants, whose lives still had more value to their master than his own. He knew, by now, what they could do to living and undead bodies alike, and it had taken him far too long to question any of his feelings of devotion to that world.  Even now, he still believed -- somewhere under the pain and despair -- that his clan would return for him, forgive him, welcome him home.  And as those thoughts itched at him along with the hundreds of thousands of tiny bodies that swarmed over his leaden limbs, he was more disgusted with himself than he had been with an entire building thick with the stench of burning worms.</p><p>It took all of Jon’s concentration to keep himself from drowning in those memories, to force his gaze away.  It might have taken all of Jordan’s strength to choke out his next words.  “Make it stop.  Let me die, just make it <em> stop… </em>”</p><p>Martin rested a hand on Jon’s shoulder.  His other hand flew to his mouth as he struggled to keep his voice at a whisper: “What can we do, Jon?”</p><p>Even before the words were out, Jon was sinking his fangs into his own wrist and holding it out to Jordan.  Ignoring Martin’s confused gasp, he nudged at Jordan’s awed and fearful memories of this same gesture and pushed as much compulsion as he could into a single command: <em> “Drink.” </em></p><p>Jordan did, eagerly, and Jon sent calm and reassurance, <em> well done </em> and <em> you’re mine </em> and <em> you’ll be all right</em><em>,</em> through the link that his blood granted them.  When he’d filled Jordan with as much of it as he dared, Jon murmured, “I’m sorry,” took Jordan’s slack, distant face in his hands, and snapped his neck.</p><p>The ants retreated, in wave after wave, as Jordan crumpled on the floor.  Jon reached down to close the unseeing eyes.</p><p>Martin forgot to be quiet, then.  “Jon, what the <em>hell?”</em></p><p>“Let’s at least get him out into the corridor,” Jon said, lifting… his mind shied away from the implications of the word <em> corpse </em> <em>.</em>  “I don’t think any of the others are nearby, but it’s best to have a clear exit.”  They backed out of the supply cupboard, and he arranged himself against the nearest wall, still holding Jordan tightly.  He didn’t like the prospect of being caught unawares by an armful of newly awakened fledgling, but hopefully Jordan’s mind would stir before his body did. “If you’d like to leave now, that’s perfectly understandable.  I think I can manage things from here.”</p><p>“What ‘things’?” Martin remained standing, his arms folded.  “What’s going to happen to him now?”</p><p>“He’s going to wake up very hungry indeed.” Jon tried to steady his voice as unwanted memories returned.  “If I don’t watch over him, he could easily kill somebody.”</p><p>“So, what are you going to do instead? Snatch one of the patients or hospital staff, and take away their memories after he feeds on them?” Martin didn’t wait for an answer.  <em>“</em> <em> Why </em> <em>?”</em> he asked flatly, and Jon had heard some of the cold anger that he’d directed at Elias during the Unknowing.</p><p>Jon didn’t pretend to misunderstand the question.  “I couldn’t … His master brought him here to look for victims -- new servants for the clan, or perhaps just a new meal supply -- in the active wing of the hospital.  When Jordan refused, Amherst ordered him not to move or scream… and then summoned the ants.  From what I could See,” he added, “it was not the first time that he was punished for his transgressions.”</p><p>“So <em> this </em> was your answer?”</p><p>“What was I <em> supposed </em> to do?” Jon demanded.  “Put in a good word for him with Amherst? Tell Jordan as he knelt crawling with bugs that it wouldn’t happen again as long as he did what he was told like a good pet?”  This time, the bitterness in his own voice reminded him more of Tim -- whom he’d also yanked back from death into a new existence as a vampire -- than of anyone else.</p><p>“Of course not, but you could have…” Martin had started to pace back and forth.  “You could have made him <em> your </em> thrall instead, right? It would help all of us, if you had another source of blood around.  And…” The words, <em> And you’re a good master</em><em>,</em> floated to the surface of his mind and lapped against Jon’s.  “Don’t some people break out of that? Just like any other addiction?”</p><p>“Some do, with considerable effort,” Jon agreed. “But if I’d claimed him, the Corruption would view it as an attempt to steal their property, and I didn’t want to risk their retaliation.  We both remember what happened the last time one of them held a grudge against us.”</p><p>“Will you <em> listen </em> to yourself?” Martin demanded.  “Don’t you know who you sound like, going on about vampire politics? Even if you <em> hadn’t </em> just turned some poor bastard against his will…”</p><p>Jon <em> did </em> know, but before he could respond, Jordan shuddered awake in his arms.  His eyes blazed red, his fangs snapped, and his consciousness was a whirl of confusion and panic and ravenous hunger. Jon barely reacted in time, and was so completely preoccupied with maintaining his physical and mental hold that he almost didn’t see Martin roll up the sleeve of his jumper and extend his arm toward them. </p><p>Their eyes met, and Martin nodded, a silent confirmation that he knew what he was doing.  He barely had a moment to respond to Jon’s pulse of gratitude, and his face clenched when Jordan’s teeth pierced his wrist.  <em> You are safe</em><em>,</em> Jon sent them both, and didn’t let go until Jordan had taken what he needed.  <em> Close the bite now.  Well done. </em></p><p>Only when Martin was rubbing at the rapidly healing mark on his wrist did Jordan seem to realize where he was.  “What… what happened? I was… the ants were on me, and now…” He looked from Jon to Martin and back again.  “What did you do to me?”</p><p>“I think you know.”  Jon wouldn’t be surprised if these first few moments, the stillness in his chest and the lingering taste of blood on his tongue, stayed with Jordan for the rest of his existence.  “If I let you go, I hope, for all our sakes, that you won’t try to attack either of us.”</p><p>Slowly, Jordan nodded, but remained knelt on the floor even after his arms were free, as if he didn’t trust himself to stand.  “I’m not <em> his </em> anymore, am I?” Jon shook his head.  “But… I suppose I’m not really <em> me </em> anymore, either.”</p><p>“I can’t answer that for you,” Jon replied.  “However, I can show you how to control your new abilities, since they’re rather similar to mine.  Too many of us are alone, after we’re turned. Well, either alone, or <em>used.”</em>  He remembered Elias’s hands on his face, on his neck, in his thoughts, guiding him toward his first victim.  “I’ll make sure that neither of those things happens to you.”  As Jon spoke his next words, he hoped that both Jordan and Martin would understand why he’d done this: “I want you to have a choice.”</p>
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